Good Answer, Mr Wyatt
by periwinkled
Summary: "So she argued for her job and you fell in love?"  "Not quite.  She never argued for her job.  She argued for her people, she argued for this town."  He smiled to himself and met the interviewer's eyes.  "And I fell in love." Ben/Leslie


_Disclaimer: This is a story about characters who don't belong to me. Written after Episode 3x09._

The lights were in place, the camera set-up finished. The interviewer glanced around as he shuffled through his note cards. He'd been in the homes of a lot of politicians, and he knew when he was looking at the set of a stage. The living room in the modest craftsman house didn't feel like a stage set. The leaded glass windows were charming and the wooden built-ins gleamed with polish, but the walls were covered in children's art and family snapshots. He'd expected at the very least to find a posed portrait over the fireplace, but instead there was a framed watercolor of what looked like a park.

The interviewer's subject, who was calmly submitting to the make-up process, followed the interviewer's gaze. "It was painted by Jerry Gergich."

The interviewer turned. "Pardon?"

His subject nodded at the mantelpiece, then apologized when the make-up artist scolded him for moving. "The watercolor. Jerry worked with my wife in the parks department, and when he retired he started painting full-time. He does really nice stuff; a few galleries in town and even one in Indianapolis carry his work."

The interviewer smiled. "How interesting."

"Yeah, Jerry's a good guy. He gave us this fella, actually." He patted the head of the dog sitting at his knee.

"He's a beautiful dog."

His subject responded with a laugh. "He's ugly as sin, but he's a hell of a dog." As if he understood, the dog rested his head on his master's knee and let out a sigh. "Do you mind if he stays in here with us? He's getting old. He won't be a bother."

"Absolutely not, that's fine. Whatever makes you comfortable."

"Thanks, man."

The interviewer turned to his companions. "Are we about ready?" It was a rhetorical question, one he always asked for the benefit of his subjects so they could mentally prepare themselves for the interview. His current interviewee sat up a little straighter, straightened his tie, and then quietly commanded the dog to lie down at his feet. It was apparently all the preparation he needed.

The interviewer settled into the opposite chair, straightened his cards, and glanced at his cameraperson to get the nod that everything was in place. Most of these spouse interviews were puff pieces at best, but this one held a little promise. The promise of a youthful scandal. "Great. Let's get started, shall we?"

"Sounds good."

"Okay. I'm just going to dive right into the deep end here. You ran for mayor of your hometown in Minnesota at the age of 18."

"I did. And I won."

"That you did."

"And then I bankrupted the town attempting to build a winter sports complex. And was subsequently impeached."

The frankness was surprising, but the interviewer assumed he'd had the question many times before. He forged on. "And yet, here you are. Married to the mayor of yet another small town."

"Yes."

"That's something of a coincidence, don't you think?"

"Not really. I may have royally screwed up my foray into politics, but nothing teaches you faster what not to do than a disastrous screw-up. And besides," he flashed an easy grin, "this was seventeen years before I even met my wife. I think it's safe to say that she had nothing to do with the Ice Town fiasco."

The interviewer laughed with the ease of practice. So much for the youthful scandal. "So how did you meet your wife?"

"I tried to fire her."

That was unexpected. "Pardon?"

His subject laughed. "Yep. I worked in the Indiana state budget office, and she was the deputy parks director of this little town. The town was nearly bankrupt, so my colleague and I were sent to balance the budget, which included the termination of several municipal employees who were deemed nonessential. She was one of them."

"So she argued for her job and you fell in love?"

"Not quite. She never argued for her job. She argued for her people, she argued for this town." He smiled to himself and met the interviewer's eyes. "And I fell in love."

"Is it safe to assume you didn't fire her?"

"No, I did not. Other people argued on her behalf—including the head of her department, who offered to be fired in her stead—but in the end, it became very clear very quickly that if the town wanted a solid chance at an economic turn-around, she was not a woman we wanted to let go of."

"So tell me about that first Harvest Festival. You worked on it as well, correct?"

"That's right. Although by the time I was brought into it, it was well on its way to being a success."

"There were a few hiccups along the way."

The interviewee laughed. "If there's one thing you learn very quickly about working in the government it's that there is no such thing as a perfectly smooth operation. There are always going to be hiccups, no matter how well you prepare. It's how you deal with the hiccups that determines the success of a project."

"What were some of the Harvest Festival hiccups?"

"Well, as I'm sure you know, I essentially lost my mind on local television. Added to that, there was an outbreak of the flu that almost benched us before we'd even gotten started, a power failure, a missing miniature horse, and the small matter of a Native American curse."

"Wow. Seems like it's a miracle the festival happened at all!"

"Well, that's my wife for you. She's a miracle-maker."

"That's a glowing recommendation for any gubernatorial candidate. You make her sound as if she's a superhero."

"No, she's not a superhero. She's just really, really good at her job."

"How long have you two been married?"

"Seven years."

"So you married before she ran for mayor?"

"Yes, she spent two years as City Planner before being elected mayor."

"And you work in the government, as well?"

"I am a financial consultant. I do some work for the local government, but I also consult with businesses and other municipalities."

"Some reports have you as a stay-at-home dad."

"Ah, yes, I've seen that. It would be more accurate to describe me as a part time stay-at-home dad. Some days I'm home with the kids, but we do have a part-time nanny, as well."

"You and your wife have three kids?"

"Yes, two daughters and a son. The girls are twins."

"How do you—" The interviewer's question was cut off as the front door opened behind him and a roar of sound filled the house. His subject immediately rose to meet the entering horde.

A petite woman with platinum blonde hair led the group, a tow-headed toddler in her arms. Behind her, a very tall man ducked through the door carrying a blonde girl in his arms. She was the source of the deafening noise—she held her arm and wailed as tears ran down her face. A second blonde girl identical to the first brought up the rear. Both girls wore grass-stained soccer uniforms.

The old dog immediately approached the non-wailing girl, who knelt to meet him and buried her face in his fur. The tall man took one look at the set-up in the living room and loudly said, "Whoa, cameras, hi!" which only made the girl he was carrying burry her face in his chest and wail even more loudly. He was instantly contrite. "Sorry, little dudette. Let's get you upstairs." The manny and both girls left the room, and the noise level immediately dropped.

The interviewee seemed to have forgotten that the camera crew was even there. He approached his wife. "What happened?"

"Minor injury. Can you take him?" She held the toddler out to her husband, who accepted the boy with a "Sure."

"Ann's already looked at it. It's not broken, but she thinks she may have bruised the bone, which is pretty painful. Hence the screaming." She peeked around her husband's shoulder to address the interviewer and crew with a bright smile. "Sorry for the noise! Just a little sports injury. We'll get right out of your hair." She reached up to kiss her husband, than hurried out of the room.

"No trouble at all, Madame Mayor," the interviewer called after her.

The interviewee walked back to the chair carrying his son, who was gripping a stuffed bear tightly and regarding the cameras with huge, curious eyes. "Sorry about that." He sat back in his chair, settling the boy on his lap. "Are there any other questions I can answer for you?" The inquiry was polite and his tone was calm, but the interviewer knew how to read people. The man wanted to be upstairs with his wailing little girl.

"Tell you what, let's boil it down to one. Why do you think that your wife is a good candidate for the governor's mansion?"

"Simply put, she doesn't care about politics. Oh, she can play the game when the situation calls for it, but for her being a public servant at any level is about _serving the public_. I know it sounds overly earnest, but when she looks at a problem, she doesn't see obstacles. She knows they're there, but what she sees are the possibilities. Take it from the jaded, cynical man who married her—she gets everyone else seeing the possibilities, too. That is a great thing to have in government on any level. If the state of Indiana elects Leslie Knope, she will move mountains for them. However, and I think this is the most important thing to understand about her, if she _isn't_ elected as governor, she will still move those mountains. When it comes down to it, it doesn't make any difference what office she holds or who may be watching. It only matters to her that the people are happy and the mountains are moved."

There was a pause as the interviewer took that in. "Good answer, Mr. Wyatt."

He laughed. "Thanks."

* * *

><p>A few days later, after the kids were all in bed, Ben and Leslie curled up on the couch to watch the recorded interview, which had aired during the evening news when they had been too caught up in the chaos of feeding their offspring to watch it.<p>

For some reason, Leslie had decided that this was an activity that merited the making of popcorn. She popped a kernel in her mouth and snuggled into her husband as he wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "Are you ready for this?"

"I still don't understand why they're even doing this series. Who wants to hear from the spouses of candidates?"

"Well, they've talked to all of us so many times, they probably just wanted a new perspective."

"Maybe." He reached a hand out to the popcorn bowl, and then paused. "Is there sugar on this?"

"Of course."

"Ugh." He shuddered, but removed a single kernel of popped corn, considered it, and then brought it cautiously to his mouth.

The news anchor was giving the lead-in to the interview, and then Ben was on the screen. Leslie squealed. He winced.

"I bet they contrived this whole thing as an excuse to broadcast your handsome face."

He laughed. "Oh yeah?"

"Well, it's what _I_ would do."

He took the popcorn bowl out of Leslie's hands and placed it carefully on the coffee table.

Leslie caught his glance and recognized the glint he had in his eye. "What are you doing? I want to hear all of the wonderful things you said about me!"

He brushed some of her hair behind one of her ears and then let his thumb linger there, softly brushing her earlobe. "Or we could turn the tv off and I could show you, instead."

She appeared to consider that, then made a grab for the remote. "When you put it that way, it really sounds like a much better idea. How long has it been since the last time we made out on the couch, anyway?"

He leaned forward, slowly tilting her back until she was reclining. "Every hour of every day is too long since the last time we made out on the couch."

Leslie chuckled and drew him down to her. "Good answer, Mr. Wyatt."

**A/N: **So I guess I'm just gonna keep writing these. Andy: best manny ever? I vote yes. Also Jerry gets some love because you know what? I like Jerry. He's a man who understands the value of a good burrito.


End file.
